Stretch Marks, and other oneshots
by cheddarbiscuit
Summary: New: Ten Seconds.
1. Chapter 1

cheddarbiscuits presents:

Stretchmarks

Disclaimer: Do not own, other wise, it would be in novel form.

* * *

Mary Margret Blanchard had some unexplainable stretch marks.

Okay, no, they _were_ explainable. They were the kind from pregnancies and births, things Mary Margaret had never been through. Perhaps they were just stretch marks. They could be from growing up as a child, they could be from a freakish spell of weight gain, though she had always been lightweight and had never been more than one pound above average, and she prided herself in never being underweight. She did not truly remember where her stretch marks came from, though she would never admit it. But, that was normal, right? Not remembering where every single mark came from? Of course, there were a great deal of them, so perhaps she should remember where she got so _many._ Why would she? If everyone remembered every little bodily detail, where would people put important memoires, like… like…

Well, just because she had no important memories did not mean she had to remember where her stretch marks came from!

Sometimes, she would stand in front of the bathroom mirror and inspect them. Running her finger along one and just wondering. She had no real _reason_ to, though, they were just stretch marks, and they could honestly be from growing as a child. She did not remember. They were nothing to be ashamed of, almost everyone had stretch marks. Why, even Emma had them! Of course, Mary Margret had never truly seen them, but if Emma was Henry's mother, she probably had the stretch marks to prove it.

She was not ashamed of the marks on her belly. She was sure there was a perfectly logical explanation for them, there had to be! She was simply curious, because she could not for the life of her figure out what that reason was. They _looked_ like stretch marks from a baby, but she had never _ever_ had a baby. She had never had any physical relationships. How was a baby possible? Still, she could tell Emma that she had once been with child, and her housemate would probably believe her, they did look like pregnancy-related stretch marks.

_Housemate_. Miss Blanchard smiled. She felt more comfortable calling Emma that, especially now that Emma had her own job, even if Miss Swan insisted that they were not roommates or housemates or anything. Emma was a very close friend, and even though they had only known each other for a short time, she felt as if she had known Emma for years, but perhaps it was because they were simply so similar.

She dreaded the day Emma tried to move. She would so miss those cozy chats with cinnamon and hot coco. Even if Emma was not very chatty. She and let her loose shirt fall over her stomach. She was wearing a set of pear-printed pajamas, a little worn at the seams but still comfortable. With the thoughts of chats and coco, she remember that she had a chatting partner and by now cold chocolate in the living room. She had been distracted by the unexplained stretch marks.

She left the bathroom and returned to the couch, sitting opposite her housemate, and picking up her coco. It was still a little warm. She took a sip and started up a polite conversation, "How was work?"

"It's all right." Emma said stiffly, "I'll start paying my half of the utility bill this time."

"Don't be silly, Emma. You don't have to."

"I'm living here." She said, and Mary Margaret could not help but see her as a delinquent child, "I should pay for the water I use."

"Alright." She decided that there would be no winning against Emma, so she dropped the subject, taking a sip of her coco. A teacher's salary did not pay much, anyway. She would have a little extra spending money if Emma paid half of the bills. Of course, there was not much for her to spend money on, and no big reason to put it away. Maybe they could take a nice trip down to the beach, go to a bigger city and buy something nice there.

Of couse, she could not really remember any sucessful venture out of the city.

"You look like you've got something on your mind." Emma said after a while.

The two sat isolated on two sides of the couch, Emma in her shirt stained with coffee, coco and paint, and her boxer shorts, and Mary Margaret in her pear-print jammies, they looked so different, but still, Miss Blanchard thought, anyone could mistake them for sisters.

"What?"

Emma gave her a little frown. It was probably a softer version of her intimidating glare. Mary Margaret grinned in return, and said, because they had nothing else to discuss and they sat there to chat, "Oh, just thinking. I have stretch marks, you know." She said, and she lifted up her shirt part of the way so Emma could see.

"…Oh." Emma looked, she saw, she frowned and looked back, as if Miss Blanchard had just thrown off all of her clothes and was now running around the room stark naked. The brunette blushed and the blondie shifted uncomfortably, looking suspitiously at her cinnamon-and-chocolate and shifting around again. It was now Mary Margaret's turn to shift uncomfortably. She let her shirt fall and straitened it out. Emma still looked uncomfortable.

"I can't remember how I got them." Mary Margaret replied. "What do you think?"

All she got in response was a pair of shifty eyes.

* * *

This was short, but it was an idea I had. I thought, "Hey, Prince Charming still had the scar, and he was in a coma because he was fatally wounded in his past life. Would Miss Blanchard/Snmow White (and I suppose, Cinderella) have stretchmarks?"

Also, I'm pretty sure cinderella had her child before Snow White. What happened to her first born? I might just need to watch that episode again. Ah, well.

If you would like to see any other oneshots, lemme know.


	2. Chapter 2

Ruby and the Wolf

(Disclaimed.)

Thank you for clearing up my confusion with Cinderella, guys!

This week, however: Ruby, Ashley, and... the wolf.

* * *

She tried to leave.

Like, every Friday night.

After Granny had gone to bed and she was absolutely _certain_ she was not going to wake up because she was in a passionflower-induced stupor, Ruby would put on her wind breaker and a pair of sweatpants over her nightie and she would hop in her car and she would sit there. For at least an hour. She had about two hundred dollars and a week and a half's worth of clothes in her trunk, she had chips, water, soda, beef jerky (oh, so much beef jerky did she have!), apples, a loaf of bread, even two glass jars, with little gingham-covered lids, one of peanut butter, one of her Granny's note-worthy jam, so that when she got to Boston she could make herself a sandwich, call her Granny, and say she was sorry for leaving, but she was not going to come back. Anything she could possibly want, was in the passenger's seat.

Well, not everything.

Ruby sat there, and stared at the little red wolf-charm on her dashboard, then she looked briefly that the mirror. She looked so gaunt without her makeup, but no one would see. It was dark. Then, she stared at the mound of snacks in her passenger seat and she _knew_ it was not all she wanted. Because, she wanted to pass Storybrooke's sign and say, 'Hey, Ashley open a bag of beef jerky.'

And Ashley would ask: 'What kind?'

Because she had so much beef jerky. She had gotten all that she could from the general store, every flavor. Maple, hickory smoked, teriyaki, peppered, super-peppered, ginger, (and you would think the ginger would be bad, but it really was not, it was actually her favorite) the floorboard was literally five grocery bag's worth of beef jerky.

There really was not room for Ashley.

But, she still wanted Ashley.

The _only_ reason no one thought Ashley could not take care of a baby was because there were very few employment opportunities in Storybrooke. In Boston, Ashley could be a maid to an employer that paid a great deal more than Mr. Gold. Yeah, he owned the town. Big deal. The town was dinky. The town was diddly-squat. Bobkins. The man took metaphorical straw and spun it into gold, made it seem like he was some big deal.

But he was not. If he owned _Boston_, now, that would be something! But he didn't. Ruby knew, there were _hotels_ bigger than Storybrooke in Boston. She—they—could go there. She knew how to mix drinks, but no one in Storybrooke really drank. She could get a job in the hotel bar and Ashley could clean the rooms. Every red cent that did not go to groceries or rent would go to the baby. No new jewelry. No new clothes. Just make up.

And Ashley did not have to be a maid, she could be whatever she wanted. There were plenty of choices in Boston.

She sat there for a while longer, as if waiting for her Granny to get a heart attack again, like she did last time, and then she started the car. She was going to get Ashley. She was going to do it now. It was early morning when she arrived at Ashley's house, and she went around to Ashley's bedroom window. Her little... Well, prince-type-figure had snuck in several times before. Ruby could easily do it herself. But, instead, she just lightly pounded on the glass.

"Hey! Ashley! Ashley! Hey!"

She turned from one side to the other. Ruby sighed heavily and opened the window.

* * *

They were driving again, towards Boston. Ashley kept nodding off and complaining that Ruby had not let her wash her face or brush her teeth, so she felt disgusting. Ruby could have remarked that she _had_ washed her face and brushed her teeth, and she had also gotten dressed and used the bathroom, too, but she was about to fulfill her life-long dream of asking for a celebratory cut of jerky as they passed the city limits.

She looked towards Ashley, who looked perfectly unkempt in the full-moon's light, held out her hand, and was about to ask for a slice of beef jerky, when the girl sitting in shotgun pointed and screamed slightly. Ruby, mindful of her passenger and her passengers' precious cargo, slammed on the breaks and swerved. They did not hit the sign, thank fully, (else how would Emma hit it the next day?) and they sat there, wide eyed and panting in the dim light.

"Are you okay?" Ruby asked almost immediately.

"Yes?"

"Is the baby okay?"

"Yes."

She looked past Ashley, to what she had pointed at. There was a rather large wolf in the road, looking around innocently. Ruby cursed, then straightened the car again, going around the wolf in the wrong lane.

It got in front of them.

She tried avoiding it a second time.

Again, it moved with them.

"Okay." Ruby grumbled, "Whatever."

She turned the car around, heading in the other direction, to the Toll bridge and the other nearest big city. It took about two seconds to pass through the town by car, and Ruby was certain the same thing would not happen again.

Except, apparently, wolves can move as fast as cars.

They both stared stupidly at the wolf and neither one even tried to convince the other that it was not the same exact beast. Ruby leaned her head back on the head rest, looked at the wolf charm, and the said, "There is some sandwich meat and a bottle of aspirin..."

"You are not thinking of _poisoning it_ are you?"

"How many pills will it take to OD a dog?" Ruby asked, peering at the label in the darkness, "About as much as a kid? What is that, five? Just wrap the pills in the meat and hand them over."

"Oh, I couldn't!"

"Then hand me the pills _unwrapped_ and I'll wrap them."

"No!" she said again, "No, look how big it is! What if its rabid?

Ruby was not listening. She was leaning over into the back seat, searching for the sandwich meat in question. When she found it, she took the pills from the glove compartment and wrapped them up in strips of sandwich meat, then, she clambered out of the car and tossed them in front of the wolf.

It did not take them.

It went over, sniffed them, and recoiled, like it knew they were poisoned. Then, it walked to sit dead in front of Ruby, like a good little dog. She and Ashley waited. And they waited. Stuck in a deadlock with that damn wolf. Eventually, Ruby got to her feet and tromped back to the car. She started the engine.

"What are you going to do?"

"I'm _going_ to run it over."

But the car did not move. Ruby swore, looked at the gauge, and saw that the arm was well below empty. Ashley leaned over, too, and they were reduced to staring stupidly once again. The gauge was full when she left. She was certain of it. It had been _full_. She knew it had been. It had to have been. SHe would not have attempted to drive almost empty!

The wolf walked away.

* * *

Next time: Someone requested Mr. Gold/Emma. This is fortunate, because I wanted to write something for Mr. Gold in the first place. He's so cool.


	3. Chapter 3

Ten seconds.

(Disclaimed.)

You will get your Mr. Gold oneshot, I promise. He's my favorite character, I want to make sure it's the best it can be.

Sorry, this is really short.

* * *

He feels nothing, nothing towards anyone. Even when Regina touches him, it is a dull sensation He simply knows where she is, he feels no warmth aside from that of her skin, and she has cold hands anyway. Nothing physical, nothing emotional. Nothing. He feels no friendship, no lust. Not even joy or sorrow.

Of course, he never tells anyone about this. If he did, everyone would know he was fake. Everyone would know he was a fraud. The friendly smile he put on when he took in Leroy for public intoxication, or let him out him again, telling him to behave better, was fake, and everyone would know it. So, the next time, instead of passively letting himself be taken in, Leroy would spit on his false friendship and punch him.

But, he is starting to feel things now, little stirrings somewhere, from that time he kissed Emma in front of God and everybody. He felt something. When he tracked that wolf, he felt _something_ and when everyone told him to take a rest and settle down, he felt a thrill at ignoring their warnings.

When Henry told him the huntsman's story, he felt something click. He thought to himself, 'Yes, this is right.' It was like finding out that he did not have a heart was the only thing he needed to bring sensation back. He feels understanding for Henry, and even a slight brotherly, possibly paternal fondness.

He still feels nothing towards Regina. Not love, not lust. Not even contempt.

Just, nothing.

Ten seconds.

He feels the burn on the ointment on his face, but he had always felt such things. Now, though, it stirs something, an urge to move away. Then, things come more and more. Desire for Emma, love, regret, a excitement for the possibility of the two of them, together, tomorrow. Henry would like that. Henry would love that. Regina would hate it, of course, but he Graham cannot comprehend hate, just love. Besides, he did not care what she thought.

Ten seconds.

And he feels enough for a lifetime. Emma's arms around him bring him more than Regina's touch ever did, but it is not her touch, it is her very presence. He wants her. More than anything. His feelings are coming back and it is like a hand has reached out and gently gripped his heart, like one would grip a fish to keep it from slipping away. Don't slip away, please, _please_ don't slip away.

Ten seconds.

_Don't slip away._

He is afraid for a moment, and suddenly, the phantom hand in his chest seems all to real. Is he confusing desire with cardiac arrest? No. No, that can't be. Was he confusing lightheadedness with enlightenment? Fatigue with confusion? A fever for infatuation? This entire time?

Please, please don't slip away.

Ten seconds.

Then the pain comes. It is like that hand is now crushing the heart he does not have. The pain runs down his arm and though his chest, not hot, not cold, just _pain_. It is not blinding. He could see, if he kept his eye open, but he does not. He keeps the squeezed shut against the pain. It hurts. So much.

Then, the negative feelings come, and Graham knows he will not see tomorrow. And he is afraid of the future. What will he see on the other side? The answers? Was Henry right? Would he find a way to tell them?

Ten seconds.

"No!"

And then it all turns to dust.

* * *

See? Short. Less that 700 words. Makes me cringe! But, bear with me, because I have not really written anything for a while, my computer got sick and it has been in the shop from the start of Christmas break. And I really can't think of what to do with Graham/Emma aside from: COLD INEVITABLE DEATH, and obviously, I've never done that before.

Oh well. If someone wants another Graham story, I'll probably do it. Someday.


End file.
